


Revolution

by smolonde



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Revolution, Black-Red Vacillation, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Mindfang has a crush and she's trying to deny it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Romance, Redglare Lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolonde/pseuds/smolonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:<br/>Both of them (Mindfang and Redglare) joining the rebellion! They've been enemies for so long, what happens when they're suddenly on the same side? Probably something gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eightbots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eightbots/gifts).



You inhale, the scent of brine and salt making its way into your nostrils. Water from the boat’s bow splashes onto the deck, misting finely over you as you stare over the horizon. The crew members that remain after your capture titter and whisper, and you stand proudly at the bow as if you cannot hear them.

_The captain is too proud. I say we jump ship sooner rather than later, or we’ll be walking the plank._

_You’re wrong. I’ve heard rumors of her joining the rebellion. Mindfang’s been pushed into a corner. The days where she and the Orphaner ruled over the Alternian seas are long gone, and now that her time’s up, she needs a wrong side of the law to stand on. Now that the Disciple’s started the second rebellion, that gives the Marquise a purpose again; and she craves going against the law and breaking the rules. After all, for the last century her life has been nothing but meaningless, sailing the seas for longer than we’ve been alive. She doesn’t want to believe her life is as wasted as we all know it is._

At that, you flinch, albeit internally, and you quickly entertain the thought of turning around and invading the mind of the impudent deckhand. Instead, you remain at the bow, your face remaining impassive.

You remember the days where you would sweep a hand and every troll on deck would slump over, only to be dragged by their own disobeying legs to the bow of the ship. Your think pan would pulse as you watched the instigator tie the dreaded rope, covered in blood, around his waist, hand the length off to the other crew members, and leap from the figurehead. That’s when you would give him control of his mind again; he would flail in the water, screaming for your mercy. You would snap your fingers, and the crew would tug the rope until the traitor was under the ship, and if you listened closely enough, you could feel his screams and the scrape of his hide along the keel of the ship. You would let the crew members go, and wait for a moment; then the anguished cries would start as they all looked over the side of the ship and saw the waterlogged, broken body of their companion.

In those days, anyone who spoke about you would face fates worse that this; you were infamous for your cruelty, and with the Orphaner at your side, you had become unstoppable. The two of you, in your black romance games, toyed with lowblood slaves and broke their minds; until Dualscar crossed the line and hurt you more than anyone had before. The betrayal had foreshadowed everything that happened to you afterwards; the destruction of your fleet, your capture by the Neophyte, and your falling out with the Expatriate. Those days are over; your old crew is dead, as is anyone you could consider a friend. The Expatriate has become jaded and bitter, siding with your old enemies. The only solace that you find nowadays is at the bottom of a rum bottle or at the helm of your ship, wind plowing through your hair.

As much as you hate to admit it, your deckhand is right. There is nothing left for you on the water. You must retire your vessel, seek out a lowblood, and join the rebellion. You think that the rest of the highbloods can afford to be taken down a few notches, certainly, so you suppose that you’re working for the greater good, but the caste system has never been important to you, and that’s certainly not the reason that you’re ready to join. You want that thrill that comes with breaking the law, the rush that you got every time you hijacked another vessel. Your life is empty and purposeless, and you want out. You breathe out, hating yourself for what you’re going to say.

“Hoist the sails. We’re headed back to land.”

 

When your ship docks at midnight, you dismiss your crew, knowing that they’d probably be better off seducing some wenches from the local bars than with you. You weave your way through the crowd; you find that you remember this place well, because somehow your feet know exactly where to go. Your boots, clicking along the cobblestones, march you to the double doors of a pub, scratched and dented from years of wear.

As you swing open the doors, you brace yourself for the silence that follows every time you walk into a room, the sudden hush and murmurs of fear. As you stand in the door of the bar, though, you hear no change in volume, and you remember with a twinge of anger that those days are over. There is no longer a bounty on your head or many memories of you. Shaking off your annoyance, you walk to the bar and order a gill of rum. The bartender leers at you, but is deterred by a baring of your fangs and a primal hiss, not to mention your face. It is then that your trained, hungry pirate’s eye catches a glimpse of silver from the corner; a lowblood, olive-blooded, most likely, has a silver pendant draped around her neck. It’s a small pendant, but you’d recognize the shape anywhere; two loops, like fish swimming around each other. You stride over to her, your arms crossed over your chest.

“You are a rebel, are you not?”

She looks into your eye, noticing the shadow falling over her, and flinches at the sight. The upper left quarter of your face is a hole, a tangle of wires and blinking lights, attached to a silver patch, and your arm is no different behind its armored plating. You tense internally at the horror on her face, but manage to rein your emotions in. She’s small and fine-boned, her teeth bared at you in an expression of hostility, but she does not speak. You realize, after a moment of perusal, that she has no hear nubs. Her wild, tangled hair hides it well, but she only has smooth depressions in the flesh where her hear nubs should be.

You grab the pendant around her neck and hold it up to her face. She tenses immediately, realizing that you could be a consort of the Empress. You gesture and shake your head, offering a thumbs-up and a nod of your head towards the doors. She strides ahead of you, and you follow her.

Her path winds through city blocks and hivestems until you reach the darkness of a forest. She leads you to a clearing, and as you look around you see a great musclebeast roasting over an open fire, and a huge group of lowbloods dancing around it. More are standing around, talking or eating. Your guide quickly vanishes, and as you look around the festive camp, someone catches your eye. She is tall, maybe your height, with red glasses and a rope around her neck. Her clothes are drab and brown, but your mind takes you back a century, remembering the same poised figure at the front of the gallows. Your eye widens, and on cue, her head turns sharply. You stare at each other, her burning eyes, hidden by red glasses, pointed at you, and at the same time, both of you breathe out two hate-filled, furious syllables.

“Redglare.”

“Mindfang.”

And to your horror, she starts to cackle, a full-bellied screech welling from her stomach as you stare ahead, descending into a black and woozy faint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mindfang wakes to a surprise in her tent, an unexpected attack, and a new position.

You awaken to bright light, a soft cloth pressed up against your forehead. Shadows fall over your face, and you realize that you’re in a tent. The same olive-blooded troll from last night is holding a wet towel to your forehead. You look at her eyes, and you’re surprised by the amount of sadness you see in them. She’s got the dark eyes of someone who has lost everything, someone who has almost run out of hope. You think about reaching into her mind and finding out her story, but you don’t. Instead, you just nod your thanks to her. She nods back, exits the tent, and leaves you to your thoughts.

As the memory of last night comes rushing back, you convince yourself you had to be mistaken. Redglare is dead. You killed her yourself, making your escape as hordes of highbloods ripped her apart. You breathe softly, trying to relax. “It was just a hallucination,” you say to the empty tent, your eye closed. “Just a hallucination.”

“You wish it was.”

You give a start, whirling your head around to see two panes of red glass at eye level with you. The Neophyte is squatting down, staring at you.

You shake your head. “You’re dead. I saw you die.”

“No, you saw the highbloods advancing on me. You escaped with no desire to look back. You didn’t think I’d escape too.” She cackles, a manic grin spreading across her face.

You scramble away from her, a panic rising in your gut. “But how?”

“What you didn’t realize is that I have mind powers as well. I am a sort of knight; my abilities include an ability to distort the reality that people see, thereby creating illusions and distractions. In the moments that you escaped, I had already bent the minds of the highbloods to see an illusion of Neophyte Redglare. I was standing just feet away from them when they attacked my phantom copy, and you fell for the illusion as well. You were able to evade me for so many sweeps, Mindfang; I knew you would find some smart way to get out. So I realized that I had to outsmart you, and it looks like it worked, at least for the last century.”

Her sharp teeth gleam, and you realize that she’s right. She has outsmarted you, and you fell for it, not even looking back to make sure she was dead. Wriggler mistake.

You swallow your anger, making your voice even and cool. “I’m impressed, Redglare. I didn’t know that you had that sort of power, and I suppose I should have taken you more seriously as an enemy.”

Redglare laughs. “But then you wouldn’t have made it so easy for me to win. I’m not angry about it, Mindfang. In fact, I’m kind of happy that I made a fool of you. And you thought you’d won for the last century.  It’s so good to know that even though you escaped, I got the best of you. I destroyed your fleet, I blinded and crippled you, I captured you, and now I’m destroying everything you were proud of over the past century. I would say I’m sorry, but this is justice, and I cannot think of a worse punishment.”

You’re in her face, baring your teeth. “You should have died that day.”

“Maybe so. But I didn’t, and now we’re here. And maybe now, I can torture you even more. I’m not entirely sure you deserve a reprieve.” She leans forward, her nose touching yours. The position strikes you as strangely intimate, given the circumstances. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to drive you mad.”

Her lips are on yours before you even get the chance to ask how she’s going to do that, and in that moment you get your answer. She’s going to mess with your head, confuse you, make her intentions unclear, and then take you down when you drop your guard. Still, that doesn’t stop you from leaning into the kiss, all teeth and hunger, albeit keeping your wits about you.

You grasp what she’s playing at. She’s roping you into some kind of faux-caliginous romance, meant to fluster you and take you down a peg. And you decide, while running your tongue over her bottom lip that you won’t let her get away with this; not again. She’s revolting to you in every way, especially because she’s outwitted you, and you feel as if this kiss could last forever with the amount of absolute hatred coursing through you….. Fake hatred, obviously. Obviously.

She pulls back. “Why, Marquise, I didn’t expect such an eager response.”

 “I could do this all day, Neophyte. Don’t try to play games with me, because I’ll always win.”

And this time you’re the one to initiate the kiss, your tongue delving between her teeth, doing your best to ignore the frantic pulsing of your blood pusher.

 

Your mouth is puffy and kiss-swollen, and the bites on your neck burn like brands as you and Redglare make your way out of the tent roughly an hour later. Your obviously fake blooming caliginous feelings for Redglare have calmed a bit, but you still want nothing more than to drag her back into the tent and pick up where you left off. Unfortunately, she is plowing forwards through the maze of tents, stopping before a large one.

“The Disciple should be in here.”

“The Disciple?” You’ve heard the name in connection with the rebellion so many times; she was the Signless’s lover, the strongest supporter of his teachings, and she’s responsible for the rebellion’s beginning. You wonder what she’s like in person; you imagine her tall and towering, all strong muscles and power. Then Redglare pushes open the flap of the tent and holds it out for you.

“Marquise,” she says courteously, sweeping her hand to indicate you should go first. You smile, all haughty looks down and polished fangs and smeared blue lipstick. As you walk into the tent, you make sure to grab her ass. She gives a barely visible start, but it’s enough for you.

The troll leaning over a large set of maps turns around slowly. Your eye widens, realizing that this is the same olive-blooded troll who took care of you and escorted you here. You nod, keeping eye contact. “My lady.”

Redglare snorts. “No need to play it up, Mindfang. She’s our leader, but she doesn’t need your titles and your fancy flair. What we need is a tactical attack plan. And you’re going to help us. I don’t know your motives are for joining the opposition, but you’re definitely not going to be sitting on your throne of loot while the midbloods do the real work.”

You hiss. “Did I say you would? I plan to contribute my share and more than that, Neophyte. I haven’t ventured on land for almost a century, so I would think if a reclusive pirate captain came ashore for the sole purpose of joining a rebellion, there must be a damn important reason. Don’t question me, and above all, don’t doubt me.” You’re in her face, staring her down, wanting more than anything to grab her by the neck and kiss her. Obviously for mind game reasons only. Yep.

The Disciple slams her hand on the table, startling both of you. Redglare signs to her, no doubt apologizing for your behavior, and you snarl quietly. The Disciple signs back to the Neophyte, and she turns to you, nodding you over. “We’re drawing up battle plans.”

You smile. Tactical strategy has always been your forte, and if you’re going to be honest, you enjoy being in the thick of the action. The three of you pore over the maps for several hours, discussing land routes that lead into the thick of the enemy camps. Her Imperial Condescension had realized that the rebel army was a very real threat, and instead of sending executors or subjugators to put down resistance, she actually built up an army. You point out that sea routes could possibly be more effective than land routes in this situation, and that not many trolls would expect an attack from the sea.

Redglare and the Disciple exchange looks. “We have some ships, but we don’t have many people who are navally trained.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re co-leading a rebellion, and you haven’t even found trolls who can sail?”

Redglare flinches. “Look, we tried, but we figured it wouldn’t work as efficiently seeing as a lot of the movement is made up of lowbloods. It’s rare that any of them are trained further than being galley slaves.”

She is cut off by the Disciple’s arm on her hand. The oliveblood signs to her urgently, and Redglare signs back, almost annoyed. The discourse becomes more heated, Redglare’s side more angry, the Disciple’s more urgent and purposeful. Redglare drops her hands, defeated. She turns to you, almost wincing.

“Marquise. Are you opposed to leading a fleet of rebels?”

You have to bite down to keep your jaw from dropping. “What?”

Redglare sighs. “Believe me, I really hate admitting this, but you’re the best navally trained troll I’ve met outside of the empress’s fleet. We need someone who can whip these trolls into shape, and unfortunately you’re the only one here with the ability to do that. If you don’t feel up to the challenge, you can leave.” She smirks. “But I suppose you’re not going to; I know you’re too prideful for that.”

The comment stings, and what hurts is that you know it’s true. Redglare has you in the palm of her hand, and she’s making you dance for her. This seems to be another part of her extensive psychological torture.

“Fine. I’m not leaving. But if I’m going to lead a fleet, it’s going to be on my terms.” You draw yourself up to your full height, making you about a head taller than Redglare and the Disciple. “I get to choose the ship with the largest captain’s quarters, the sailors have to listen to my every command, and we start training in a fortnight.”

Redglare signs to the Disciple, who nods several times and finally gives a sign of assent. Then she shoos you out of the tent, giving a dismissive toss of her head to Redglare.

 

“Well?”

Redglare shrugs. “You’re officially our naval commander, Mindfang.”

“I suppose you’re frustrated. The moment the Disciple meets me, you’re less important. It definitely doesn’t help that you despise me and that we’re longtime enemies. You thought I’d get justice; instead I get a command post and you lose your position at her right hand. I bet that stings.”

Redglare looks at you, sizing you up, her mouth shaped in a scowl. “Don’t bet. Gambling is a vice, and I’d hate to see you succumb to it.”

By this time, you’ve made it back to your tent, and Redglare stops as you duck in. You wait a moment, but you see her shadow turn. You poke your head back into the open, looking up at her.

“Are you coming in or not?”

“Why would I come in? It’s your tent.” She turns around and walks away.

You stare at her retreating figure, trying to figure out why you feel so disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist gains glory, but unbeknownst to her, she needs more.

The last sweep has been rough, to say the very least.

While you barked orders at the crews of lowbloods, Redglare has been breathing down your neck to make sure you didn’t step a single toe over the line. Not that you were the one to step out of line; the lowbloods didn’t respect you enough to follow your every order until the Disciple signed some sense into them. You’ve been picking up some basic signing, and you’re actually pretty proud of the fact that you can communicate with her pretty effectively. You’ve only had to use Redglare as a go-between a few times, and even though she’s not happy about it, she’s had to teach you how to sign. This includes you spending a lot of your time alone with her; you’re just glad she hasn’t tried anything to mess with your mind yet again. Yes. You’re glad. Obviously.

The crew consists of two hundred trolls, hand-picked by you, and seven ships. You’ve allocated a leader to each vessel, but, as promised, yours has the largest captain’s quarters. As you whipped your crew into shape, forcing them to do arm exercises for rowing, you watched their shoulders get broader, their muscles getting more defined. You feel something akin to pride as you watch them make their way up the beach towards the ships, their once hunched backs straight and proud. It helps that someone has been stirring up old whispers about the great Marquise and her lawless nature, her tactical brilliance, her control over every situation. Of course, you have absolutely no idea who could be rustling up these old stories, but they’ve been damn effective at giving you a reputation.

You think that being a captain again, with a devoted crew, a fleet of seven ships, and an authority you haven’t had in almost a century, is the best thing you’ve ever experienced.

 

Tonight is the night that has been weighing on everyone’s mind since it has first been announced; it’s the night before the ambush on the Condescension’s troops. You’ve all worked hard to prepare, training against the Neophyte in cutlass combat, and you have to admit that your skills have gotten rusty.  When you first trained against Redglare, you ended up flat on your back, her foot pinned firmly to your chest. When you looked up at her face, you could see the smirk on her face, and that made your blood pusher pump so hard that Redglare looked concerned about your health. Obviously it was just the adrenaline in your system that made your breath come in short puffs when you saw her sharp smile. Nothing else whatsoever.

You’re trying to tell yourself that it’s true.

Redglare sidles up next to you at the campfire, bumping your shoulder as she flops down, holding a leg of cluckbeast. She turns to look at you, her features impassive.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be to lead a fleet.”

She chuckles. “So you’re feeling pretty confident with your ability.”

You give a rueful grin. “Have you ever known me for anything emotion less than confidence?”

She smiles, poking at the fire with a stick. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the rowdy noises coming from the camp, the whoops of lowbloods dancing and playing music on out-of-tune lutes and skin drums.

You size up your old enemy (your friend? Your ally?) and find you’re surprised at how subtly, but how much she has changed in the last sweep. From your hand-to-hand combat, both of you have gained muscle, but you haven’t taken into account how good it looks on Redglare. Her biceps, defined and powerful, ripple like hills, and her calves are firm and supple. You glance at her face, and watch the fine sheen of sweat build on her upper lip from the heat of the fire.

Redglare notices the change in your mood and looks over at you. You feel a thrill in your system, all your nerves telling you to look away. But you just look deeper into those burning eyes, feeling heat rush into your face, mingling with the heat of the fire.

Redglare smirks knowingly. “See something you like, Marquise? I’m not surprised, considering you’ve been looking at me like a moonstruck barkbeast for the last swe— “

Her mouth is hot and greasy from the cluckbeast, but you find that you don’t care, and you kiss her with fervor. She remains still for a moment, then smiles lethally into the kiss and digs her fang into your bottom lip. It hurts, but your pride will not let you pull away. You push your tongue into her mouth violently, tasting cluckbeast and sweat and _Redglare_ —

She pulls away, the hair on the back of her neck rising under your touch; you didn’t even realize your hand was there.

“Your tent. Now.”

The two of you almost trip in the race to your tent, pawing at clothing with trembling hands, and you collapse on top of her as you fall into the tent. Your mouth finds hers immediately, and as the two of you strip, you only stop kissing to take each other’s shirts off. She undoes your ratty corset, and you kiss her even harder, and she’s gasping into your mouth, and she reaches behind your neck and twists a strand of your hair around her finger. You pull away, breathing her name like a prayer.

“Redglare— “

“Latula.” The name is said breathily and in amazement, and you wonder how long it’s been since she’s said it.

“Latula.” The name slips off your tongue. She gasps, her back arching under your touch, and you can feel the shivers going up her spine. You lick a hot stripe from the bottom of her neck to the base of her ear.

“I’m not going to beg, if that’s what you’re going to ask of me.”

“I didn’t say you had to.”

“What do you want, if not that?”

You pause for a moment, then breathe the answer into her ear.

“ _You.”_

And you realize, as she gasps hungrily, and starts kissing her way down your neck and between your breasts, that you haven’t spoken more honest words in centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated for like 5 months, school and other things are driving me up the wall... but hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things sooner rather than later.


	4. Chapter 4

Your cutlass is in your hand as you stand in front of the wheel, leading a fleet straight into the Condesce’s territory.

The sea roils under your ship, blacker than ink and just as murky. While the darkness makes your crew uneasy (you can hear it in their whispered words, still audible over the crash of the waves), it’s old hat for you; you’ve braved waters that could melt the flesh off bones, seas that toss like a restless sleeper. Your fleet follows you, put at ease slightly by the straightness of your back at the helm. Somewhere among the scores of lowbloods on the ships is Redglare, watching your ship from afar.

_Last night, after you had kissed her until her lips were numb and explored her body with your tongue and fingers, you lay with your head on her bare breast, feeling the thumping of her blood pusher below your ear. You sighed contentedly, angling yourself up towards her eyes._

_“Do you think we’ll win?”_

_She quirked a corner of her lip. “You’re asking me? Whatever happened to your unwavering confidence and bravado?”_

_You kissed her neck. “I used it all up on you tonight.”_

_“That you did.”_

_“Honestly, do you think that we stand a chance?”_

_Latula threaded a hand through your snarls of hair. “We have troops to rival the Condesce’s, a naval fleet trained by the planet’s finest, as much heart as the original rebellion…. I think that if we don’t win, at least we’ll go down swinging.”_

_You smirked. “The planet’s finest?”_

_“You’re not all bad, you know. I give you a hard time because you’ve done some terrible things, but objectively, you’re an excellent commander, a strong leader, impressively ruthless, and a hell of a good bedfellow.”_

_“Is that what we are? Bedfellows?” You raised your eyebrows, your heart hoping against every other organ in your body that she would say you’re something more to her._

_She went silent for a long moment, the only sounds the crackling of the fire outside and your mingled breathing._

_“We’ll see how tomorrow goes. If we win, we can talk about what we are together. If one of us dies, then that answers that.”_

_You pretended to be satisfied, placing a kiss on her collarbone. She could be yours if you win. And if you said at that moment that she wasn’t your motivation to win, you’d be adding another lie to the mountain that you’ve built._

An unfamiliar rumble snaps you from your memory, and you look around for its source. The crew has gone still, looking around, and then you notice that the sea has stopped moving entirely. A pregnant pause hangs over your ship like a spell.

And a white tentacle erupts from beneath the boat.

The crew panics, and even you let out a screech. A monster has surfaced, its hard beak snapping, hundreds of tentacles undulating. You know, without even thinking, that this is the Condesce’s lusus. Gl’bgolyb is the stuff of legends, its tentacles spanning the length of sixty whales, and you are awestruck by its ugliness, staring at the creature very few have ever seen.

Then it slams a tentacle onto your deck, scooping up a rustblood sailor.

You realize the consequences in a split second. The monster will kill the rest of the crew, decimate your fleet, and leave you with no chance of beating the highbloods. You think of jumping ship, maybe escaping the carnage. Then you realize. Redglare is aboard one of your ships, and she will undoubtedly die if you don’t take action.

The surge of power rises from your gut all the way to your brain. You will not let her die; you _cannot_ let her die. And in that moment, you know exactly what you have to do. It’s been years, and you could destroy yourself, but if that saves Redglare, you’re ready.

You shut your eye tight, blocking out the screaming sailors, eight of who have already been snatched up, feeling every pulsing inch of your brain, making a bridge from your mind to Gl’bgolyb’s giant brain. You’re almost overpowered by the sheer size of it, but you power through, pushing more of your power into its brain. Sweat pours in a stream down your face, and your body shakes, but finally you’ve taken over the creature’s brain. It has no finesse or intelligence, so there isn’t much of a fight, but you feel an immense, painful strain on your body. You coax the monster down into the sea, willing it to swim deep into the bowels of the ocean, and you feel each league it travels downward. You scream, struggling to keep control.

“ _ROW!”_

And the oars of your fleet all move in unison, the lowbloods paddling as fast as they can, away from Gl’bgolyb’s hungry maw. You push, with a final burst of stamina, and order the creature to fall into a deep sleep. You hear a voice, still familiar through the haze of your pulsing head.

“Mindfang!”

You collapse onto the deck, eye rolled back into your head, your mind and your vision going completely black, your mouth struggling to form a single word.

 

You awake to a soft rocking and a soft, strange noise. You open your eye a crack, scanning your surroundings, and see Redglare sitting on a stool next to the hammock you’re lying in. The ocean hits the sides of your ship, and you woozily turn to find the source of the sound until your eye refocuses on Redglare. She’s softly singing a melody that you don’t recognize, but you catch the words ‘my light’ and ‘you are here’.

“Your light, hmm?” You’re surprised at how your voice comes out; it’s a croak, like you haven’t had a sip of water in weeks.

Redglare startles and hastens to grab a small pitcher next to her stool. She brings it over to you, cups your chin, and lets you take a long gulp.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t wake.” She says this impassively, but you can hear the emotion building behind her voice. Worry, relief, joy, and something else, a feeling so heady you need to shut your eye for a moment. You open it again to find a tear brimming from it at the sheer force of her feelings.

“How did you get here? You’re supposed to be on another ship.”

“Well, I jumped ship. I may also have convinced one of the yellowbloods to psionically carry me over here, but that’s irrelevant.”

You smile exhaustedly. “Why did you think that was a good idea?”

She flushes a bit. “I thought that you might have been hurt, and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost…. Well, that you weren’t dead.”

You smirk as much as your exhaustion will allow. “Hmm, all right. Where are we?”

“We’re about two days away from the Condesce’s nearest base. You should be stronger by then, according to the Disciple.”

“I need my rest, then. I’m going to go back to sleep, so I’m afraid I have to bid you adieu, Neophyte.”

She nods, turning to leave, and just as you feel a twinge of disappointment at watching her go, she turns back around, walks to your bedside, leaves a chaste kiss upon your dry lips, then your forehead. You sigh, smiling slightly, and she walks from the room, the corner of her lip quirked up.

You realize now what that heady feeling was; you’re feeling it rush through your own veins.


	5. Chapter 5

Love. You’ve only heard that word said in conjunction to the Signless and the Disciple, so you think you have to solicit some personal advice.

The Disciple’s back is turned when you enter the room. She turns to you, signing a cold welcome.

 _Hello,_ you sign back awkwardly. _I have a question for you._ You don’t know the sign for love, so you place two hands over your chest and push them back and forth.

_Redglare. I know._

_You know?_ You’re outraged. YOU didn’t even know you wanted her like that.

_You want her as your kismesis, your moirail, your flushmate, and your auspistice. You want her love, her anger, her friendship, and her mediation. That’s love._

You notice that she clutches the silver pendant, rubbing over the loops gently. You have a brief vision of yourself doing that with Redglare’s symbol, and make a promise to yourself to visit a smithy and get a pendant like the Disciple’s.

_So you never questioned that feeling for him?_

_No. It was something I understood as soon as I felt it. I loved him, and I knew he felt that for me as well. I let it wash over me, and even if it ended in tragedy, I never had to force it._

_That’s all I wanted to ask. Thank you._

You could swear that as you leave, her lips quirk just the tiniest bit.

 

The Condesce’s palace stands tall against the sunset, and you stand at the helm of your ship as a hand clasps yours.

“Are you ready?” Redglare looks straight at you, and you turn to face her.

_No, Latula. I’m not ready, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life and you._

The words don’t make it from your mind to your mouth, but you manage to choke something out. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“If we make it out alive…. You’d want to keep seeing me, right? This wasn’t just some romantic fling to y—”  

You hope that your answer is clear when you kiss her with all the strength in your body and mind, wrapping your arms around her, and she goes slack in your grip, kissing you back like your mouth is water and she’s in the desert, and your tongue is in her mouth and all you can taste is a faint tang of salt from the sea and all you can smell is her hair and her skin and _Latula—_

And she pulls away, choking back a sob.

You hold her, a lump rising in your throat as your ship beats on through the water.

 

It’s taken a lot of power out of you, but with some mental manipulation, you’ve tricked the guards and snuck into the maze of the Condesce’s dungeon.

Redglare is beside you, using her canesword to break the locks on the prisoners’ cages. “Stay and fight, or run and don’t look back,” is her advice to each freed prisoner. You nod, following her, for once, into the dungeon’s bowels. She turns around, stopping you from following her any further.

“Take this.”

In her open palm is a pin in the shape of her sign. She attaches it to the lapel of your uniform, her fingers lingering. “In case we don’t see each other again.”

Then she melts away into the shadows, leaving you with your arm outstretched, until you are shaken from your thoughts by the sound of cannon fire.

 

Lowblood troops run through the halls of the castle, carrying blazing torches and setting the Empress’s tapestries on fire. A painting of the Condesce goes sailing over your head, and you duck, the portrait taking out a highblood soldier instead. Someone has etched the Signless’s symbol into the ground, and you hear the battle cry of your soldiers as they slice through the waves of highbloods.

“Long live the prophet!”

You see the Condesce at the top of the stairs, a throng of soldiers surrounding and protecting her with shields. You dip into the shallows of her mind and see that she is terrified. The soldiers around her are being picked off one by one, and her heart pounds in her broad chest.

You unsheathe your cutlass and run straight at her.

You slice through walls of soldiers, impaling and stabbing and slicing left and right and front. The Empress is no more than forty yards from you, and you cut through her defenses, splashing violet blood on the floor like water on a deck. You’re in your element here: the slight salty tang to the air, the blood on the floor; a reminder of when you were feared and hated by all.

You love it.

And as you finally meet the Empress’s eyes, you are knocked to the ground.

The Disciple has dived past you, tackling the Condesce like a mighty meowbeast, slashing at her throat with sharp steel claws, impaling her straight through the heart. She screams wordlessly, howling as fuchsia blood spatters her face, grabbing the other troll’s head and slamming it against the ground until her forehead cracks open like a grubshell. And as the blood spills across the floor, the Disciple howls one single word into the sky, something that sounds like “Sih-ess”, though her deafness may be distorting what the syllables sound like. And you understand the feeling deep inside you, the rawness that you feel every time you get a whiff of teal blood nearby, and you gasp at the same second that the Condesce takes her last breath.

 

The battle has died down, only a few straggling highbloods still fighting for their pride. The rest have surrendered, the shock of their leader’s death too much for them. You search for Redglare in the piles of bodies lining the shore, your heart seizing up every time you catch the sight of teal blood, though it’s never her. Your lip starts to shake, your cybernetic ugliness getting even more distorted as your face screws up, even the thought that she could be dead making you start to sob.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And before you even turn in the directions that the words come from, she’s on you, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your hair, and she’s bloodstained and sweating but you don’t care, grabbing her shirtfront and kissing her and holding her while tears stream down your face. You collapse onto your knees, clinging to her waist as your legs hit sand.  

“I love you. I love you, I love you, oh Gods I love you.”

The rest of the words are drowned out as she pulls you under for another kiss, and the battlefield washes out of your vision, carrying you away from the sea and into a life that you’d never contemplated until you were in her arms.


End file.
